Yes, the third part of the Life trilogy is coming, I promise. But now for something completely different.
~~ Harry Potter and the (Toxic) Complexity of Slytherin Girls ~~
Harry was already late for Defense Against the Dark Arts when he somehow managed to spill his entire morning tea over his homework on his way standing up. He paused mid-stance, staring in disbelief at the steaming puddle coating his entire night's worth of work. The stack of strolls carried in his other hand slipped pathetically to the floor.
"Oh, for gods…"
Frozen, he checked his watch, cup in hand. Snape had called the lesson for one o'clock sharp, which meant he now had about nine minutes to rewrite his entire essay, change his robes, get his arse in lesson and on a seat. First bloody lesson with Snape as Professor - heck, the first proper D.A.D.A lesson since their fourth year - and he was going to make a tit of himself.
He turned towards the Great Hall's exit and saw Ron staring bemusedly back.
"Just… go on without me."
He laughed, obliging.
"Your funeral, mate."
Muttering darkly, he hurried to gather his pieces, tense and angry at himself. He dumped the mug and scooped up his warm and wet homework, wiping it against his robes to try and salvage it. It was still readable… ish. To think he'd even gone through the effort of actually making sure it was done on time - specifically to keep Snape off his back - and now this was how the first lesson would go.
He crouched to gather his dropped scrolls and stopped - staring down at a glossy black and white photo that had fallen on top. He picked it up slowly, knowing he didn't have time to reminisce, yet unable to look away from it. He felt a knot of tension that had been building all day intensify, and for a moment all he could do was breathe as he looked at the old photo.
The Order of the Phoenix, circa… however long ago it had been taken. The smiling faces of his father and godfather. Happy to be working for their cause. Happy to be alive and together.
The photo trembled slightly in his hand.
He'd never known what it was like to have a true family, and then his only time exposed to it had been brief and tainted. It was only a short break from the norm, granted - but moving on had been harder than he'd realized. For the first time since living with the Dursleys, he felt truly alone. It wasn't like the few months having Grimmauld Place to look forward to had vicariously changed his outlook of life, or magically taken away his loneliness - but his thoughts of such had definitely been placed on the back burner for a while. Brief as it was, for the first time in sixteen years, he'd felt part of a family. Worrying about school work and exams felt like a joke.
Then, six weeks ago, Sirius Black, his last living family member, had been killed by his own cousin, the deranged Bellatrix Lestrange. It was still a fresh wound and the day it wouldn't be felt a very long way off.
A noise sounded - somebody coughing, maybe sneezing, he didn't know - and brought him back to the hall. He fumbled the papers back among the scrolls, then stepped away from the Gryffindor table, breathing deeply. He hurried out of the hall and up the small, narrow staircase that he and others had used for years as a short-cut between lessons.
It was a dangerous tangent to go down - he couldn't afford to chase the emotional rabbit like that during lessons. Especially Snape's lessons.
Thinking on his feet, he pulled off his outer robes and scrunched them into a tight wad under his arm. It wasn't the neatest sight, but it was a damn lot better than arriving looking like he'd pissed himself. Again, he attempted to clean off what he could of his ruined homework onto the dirty robes, somewhat aware of it's futility but determined nonetheless.
A short while later and for the first time possibly ever, he was relieved to hear the sound of Snape's voice as he jogged towards the ajar door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He was almost worried he'd be denied entry for turning up late.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the classroom. The change was instant - Snape had clearly imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, curtains drawn over the windows and now lit only by candlelight. New portraits replaced the old on the walls, many of them now showing people in pain or sporting ghastly injuries. He didn't appear too late, as he seemed to be still introducing the class register. Harry walked quickly to a free desk at the back, feeling suddenly like he was back in first year and had turned up after getting spoke as he made his way, and mercifully, even Snape appeared not to have noticed his lateness.
"Brown… Davis… Dunbar… Finnigan… Granger… Greengrass… Longbottom… MacMillian… Malfoy… Parkinson… Patil… Potter… Thomas… Weasley… Zabini..."
All were marked present with the exception of one, who thankfully, was not him.
"You have had five Professors in this role before I - and I use the term Professors loosely… Naturally, these teachers all had their own methods and priorities. Though your standard of work may have pleased them, make no mistake, my standards shall be far more advanced."
He set off around the room, now speaking in a lower, more dramatic tone.
Ron threw him a half-smile, he gave the briefest of nods back before focusing on Snape. Nobody had been particularly looking forward to his tenure running the class, but in a bizarre part of his mind, Harry was strangely looking forward to it. He had been after the post for years after all, and with his first-hand experience, they were undoubtedly in for a far more intense lesson than that of the years previous. Though it was probably somewhat foolish or naive of him, he was determined to approach these new lessons with an open mind.
"The Dark Arts are many, varied and ever-changing. And they are eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, merely sprouts a new one, fairer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is forever mutating and indestructible. Your defenses must be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo… isn't that correct, Mister Potter?"
Okay - it may have been ambitious to think his lateness had gone completely unnoticed. He met Snape's sharp gaze evenly, trying to seem as cold and sterile as he was.
"That's correct, Professor."
"Is it? Oh, I'm so glad," he shot back. "Now I see that you've managed to find time out of your busy schedule to come in, please, would you be kind enough to illuminate us with your brilliant insight? After all, you do have more experience teaching this class Defense Against the Dark Arts than I do."
He was referring to Dumbledore's Army; last year Harry had taught at least half of class defensive magic, unbeknownst to any of the teachers.
"Sorry… Professor… please carry on…"
"Oh, may I?"
He looked down at the stained notes he had stacked in front of him, scanning them for any means of escape. Snape's face betrayed nothing, but he nodded slowly.
"The Dark Arts encompasses many spells and actions, ranging from the infamous Unforgivable Curses to the tribal practicing of Voodoo Magic, but the dark arts are not limited simply to spells. The brewing of harmful or poisonous potions to the breeding of dark creatures and plants, all fall under this category of being illegal or... heavily discouraged in the Wizarding world. We typically refer to practitioners of these arts as Dark wizards or witches… creative, I know."
He crept away from him.
"Your existence at Hogwarts is a sheltered one. Because of it, you are under prepared for what you may encounter beyond its walls. I have been pushing for years for the educational system to address this glaring mistake and it appears… in light of recent world events, our gracious Headmaster has finally heeded my warning. Stand up."
The room filled with the scraping of chairs - Harry flinched, having become enrolled in the Professor's speech. He made it to his feet quickly.
"Darkness will hide in any place it finds opportunity. When facing the Dark Arts, your only trustworthy companion will be your wand. Anything else can be corrupted. Do you think your brother would think twice about killing you, were they under the influence of the Imperius Curse? You must learn to distinguish your heart from your mind, from a hostile enemy to placid online… from your friend to foe. When it comes to dark magic, you will find the latter more common than it seems. You will now divide into pairs, one partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Today's lesson is on non-verbal magic and the only way to learn is to try. While you all clear the desks and make room, I shall read out the groups."
Non-verbal magic - he had to be having a laugh, didn't he? The only people capable of doing non-verbal magic were the Professors, the likes of Dumbledore and McGonagall, or on the complete other ends of the spectrum, Lord Voldemort. But now they were expected to just jump into it? Without so much as a hint how to cast it? He looked across the room and found Hermione's face validating his worries.
"Hermione Granger and Lavender Brown. Seamus Finnigan and Draco Malfoy. Neville Longbottom and Faye Dunbar. Ernie MacMillian and Pansy Parkinson. Ronald Weasley and Parvati Patil. Harry Potter and Tracey Davis. Dean Thomas and Blaise Zabini. You may begin when ready."
He shook his head at Snape's greasy voice. As the others moved around him, he hesitated. He'd love to pin his delay on the abrupt subject matter they were to be learning, but a far bigger concern was making known in his head. This was on him - he'd turned up late and he'd drawn the short straw.
"Ayo, Potter!"
He turned and saw Slytherin student Tracey Davis approaching him, a wide grin on her tanned and boyish face.
"Alright… Davis…"
He smiled wearily as she stopped in front of him, devilish eyes sparkling.
It was no secret that Tracey Davis was the one who, second only to him, got detention by far the most in their year. This was one of the rare occasions she was actually even in lesson - his understanding was she spent all her time either flunking off or confined to the dungeons on suspension. If memory served correct then she was actually a few months younger than him, but one could be fooled - with her messy hair, untucked uniform, and a pierced eyebrow, she could have passed for a seventh year. She made Malfoy look positively welcoming.
She gazed back at him impassively, arms folded across her chest.
"Pissed yourself on the way up, did you Potter?"
He gestured vaguely to the robes back on his desk.
"Yeah, that's exactly what happened."
She cackled silently.
"How'd you wanna do this, then? Want me to show you how it's done, or are you itching to fire your stuff at me?"
He eyed her carefully. She had an expression that would lead him to think she was giving harmless banter, but there was an underlying indication she was being more malicious than just that.
"You go first. I'll defend."
Blowing a raspberry, she saluted on the spot, then ventured a few paces back.
As the lesson properly began, a reasonable amount of chaos ensued around them; many were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it out loud, which angered Snape greatly. Typically, ten minutes in, Hermione was the only one who had accomplished her goal, managing to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a word, which normally should have earned her twenty points from Gryffindor, but was conveniently ignored.
Twenty minutes later, Davis, who had supposedly been trying to cast at him while looking wholly disinterested the entire time, broke her stance suddenly and reapproached him. Harry, who had his wand raised, lowered it in confusion, assuming something was wrong.
Stopped closer than he'd have liked, then dropped her hand to the desk behind him, smirking.
"You still with that Chang girl, or what?"
Her northern slang slowed her words, but not enough for him to justify a single reason why this was relevant to non-verbal magic.
"N-no, we split up. Why?"
"Ahhaha… Had to get rid, did ya?"
He couldn't meet her energy. He didn't know what she was doing. Though it was a lot messier and ten times more awkward than how she worded it, he nodded still.
He never did feel good around Davis.
She gave off a vibe that was different from the other girls. Talking to her felt more like talking to a man than a woman. He'd never been good with the hyper-masculine type - it was one of the many reasons he, Dudley and Uncle Vernon had never gotten on. They would scream into the TV over football and drink themselves into a coma, but he never felt that same level of enthusiasm, not even when it came to Quidditch. He'd felt hints of it around the Weasleys, sure, or Dean and Seamus, but all in all, it was a mindset he assumed was relegated to the muggle world. Yet, in a bizarre way, despite Davis being the fairer sex, it was the exact same feeling he when got around her. She was the most stereotypical high-school jock he could picture, just confined to the body of a teen punk girl.
He avoided her out of principle; he felt they violently had nothing in common, and conversing with her now confirmed his thoughts, only making him uncomfortable and out of his depth.
"Grafting after anyone else, then?"
"G-grating?"
If he stuttered one more word he would hold his breath until he choked to death, mark his words.
"Grafting. You know. Fancy any more birds?"
"No. Not at the moment."
He'd finished speaking, but her eyes kept on him like he hadn't.
He looked around the lesson, then back to her. Nobody was paying them any mind, which meant there'd be no easy escapes out of this uncomfortable scenario. He looked back to her, waiting for her to say something, then when she didn't, he felt even more out-of-place.
"What… ?"
"Ahh, c'mon…" teeth came over her bottom lip. "You've probably thought about it too."
He blinked.
"I'm - I'm sorry?"
"Why haven't we hooked up yet?"
There was a silence in which every subtle wand movement and whispered enchantment seemed to be magnified around the room tenfold.
She continued, her nerve un-wavered.
"Best looking ones in the class and between us, we'd be any Professor's nightmare. A trouble-making dream team. So what's been holding you back?"
There was probably a compliment somewhere in that, but he really couldn't feel anything other than that he was being insulted.
He had wandering eyes as much as the next lad, but he could honestly say he'd never thought of her in that way. They had a similar build, which considering he was now Quidditch-training full-time, probably didn't shine a great light on her. She had broad shoulders and through a shirt that was definitely too tight for her, he could see she possessed a thick, hardened figure. That wasn't necessarily to say she was unattractive, however, as her well-endowed chest and pretty face easily made up for her androgynous appearance, but - and it wasn't that he had anything against tomboys - he wasn't exactly into snogging strangers, and even less of the Slytherin variety.
"I'm... really not interested... sorry."
Her face swapped suddenly - changing in an instant from placid to hostile.
"Some kind of fag or something? Like it in your arse, do ya?"
The out-of-nowhere verbal assault hit like a sudden slap in the face.
"What are you on about!? No - I don't -" he stammered, "I'm just… I'm not…"
She broke into a smile again - so she was joking, then?
"Then what we screwin' around for, ay? You doing anythin' tonight?"
She moved her hand across the desk behind him, in the process smoothly bringing them closer together. He tried to lean back - feeling her body heat on his own.
"Yeah, no - I'm busy - I can't, I…" he tried.
"You're w-w-what?" she mocked. "Scared of me, little man?"
Her sheer gall had caught him so unexpectedly, it took all of this time for him just to get his mind straight. Finally, he swallowed his anxiety and pulled himself free from her. He slid out the side and forced his words into a coherent stance.
"I'm not scared of anything - just, no. Okay? I'm not interested, thank you, but no."
He tried to tell her this - but in actuality, it probably came out more of a defensive squeal. Ask him again why he didn't hang around the masculine types?
Her face turned sour again, looking as though she'd taken a whiff of spoiled milk.
"Fucking prude - !"
She delivered a kick to his table which, for the second time today, sent his pile of papers and scrolls spilling onto the floor.
"Think you're out of my league? Or just yellow-fever? Get over yourself, prick."
She marched away from him and he held his hands up - partly in confusion, mostly in relief. The sudden noise caused a few to look in their direction, but it also hadn't been the first desk sent flying this lesson, so the room didn't come to a standstill. Hermione frowned worryingly over at him.
There he stood, papers swirling in the air around him, it felt like it had all happened so quickly - but what had happened, he wasn't quite sure.
"Mister Potter, I see you're handing in your first homework of the term on limited edition tea-scented parchment. How lovely."
The end of the lesson had taken its sweet time coming round after his partner had stormed from the room. When the bell had finally rung and they were given dismissal, he had brought himself intentionally to the end of the line, hoping in any way to salvage something last minute from his ruined parchment.
He looked down at his brown-stained, twice beaten homework and his heart dimmed. Even he couldn't call Snape unfair for that one.
"Who do you think I am that my standards would be so low? Your mother, perhaps? Sit down and copy it out onto fresh parchment. You may leave when it is completed in full."
He glanced to the side, seeing the last of the red ties disappearing through the door at the end of the room. He knew they wouldn't be waiting for him on the other side. And to think, not two hours earlier had looked so hopeful. Maybe he had subconsciously chased the rabbit after seeing his father's photo after all.
"Yes, Professor…"
Not willing to argue, he slipped into the closest seat and brought his withered homework to a new, fresh bit of parchment.
As he wrote, he found himself having to push the thoughts of his encounter with Davis aside. It was difficult to focus, to keep his mind on what he could. Mercifully, Snape decided to keep to himself as they both worked, him copying out his previous work, Snape marking the results of his classmates.
It had only occurred to him long after the bizarre encounter had taken place, but somewhere along all of it, he couldn't help but feel she'd complimented him.
He'd seen her weave in and out of lessons in the past. Frankly, he usually forgot she was even a member of their year. Truth be told, her being confined to the dungeons on suspension was a rumor, he actually had no idea where she vanished during those long-absent stents and frankly, he had no desire to know. Was it worth asking Snape to make sure they weren't partnered again?
The second the thought even occurred to him, he physically shook it free from his head with a melancholy smile. If anything, learning how much he liked his dueling partner would probably just inspire him to do more duo-based lessons.
Emotionally, he forced himself not to think of her. There was too much going on these days to let one dodgy encounter with a girl he barely knew spoil his day. He'd definitely get a kick out of telling Ron and Hermione later, but other than that, he elected not to dwell on Tracey Davis any longer than necessary.
When he eventually handed his paper over ten minutes later, he was then told to remain in his seat until it had been marked in full. The other students hadn't been made to do this, he remembered.
"Acceptable. Dismissed."
He nodded his head, feeling as though that was as much of a compliment from Snape as he'd ever achieve. On his way out of the classroom, he was halted again.
"One more thing, Potter."
He gritted his teeth, patience finally beginning to wear thin.
"Professor?"
"I hope you paid attention this lesson. My words will certainly help you with what is to come."
He nodded, unwilling to give anything more than that, and with a nod from Snape, finally got to take his leave.
He pushed his many thoughts aside as he moved, his boot heels sending muted echoes through the arched seventh-floor corridor. He had a lot of thoughts going on now, but didn't want to dwell on any of them. The retelling of his encounter with Davis would have to wait for the morning, all he wanted now was a bath.
What a bloody fantastic start of term this had been.
